


And there will come a time, you'll see

by ShariDeschain



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShariDeschain/pseuds/ShariDeschain
Summary: For all the anger and the lies and the betrayal, you don't take away hope from the people you love. Cosimo will understand.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Veraverorum (your_Mother)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_Mother/gifts).



> Written for the [Medici exchange on tumblr](http://imediciexchange.tumblr.com/) and for [Veraverorum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/your_Mother/pseuds/Veraverorum), her prompt was _Marco being a physical messenger while Cosimo is exiled in Venice_ which I found so lovely and perfect. I'm not sure this was what you had in mind but I hope you like it!

“Is that all?”, Contessina asks, and Marco looks up at her and then back at the envelopes and the paper sheets scattered all around the table.

He knows what she's really asking and what she wants to hear. But unfortunately, he also knows what the true answer to her question is.

This _is_ all. All of Cosimo's orders, all of the informations and the instructions he wanted to give to his wife. And nothing else. No personal letters, no gifts, not a promise of love or even a kind word to be referred.

He meets her eyes again, and he doesn't know how to tell her what she already knows, what she's still hoping not to hear, because it's been _months_ now, and she's still alone, her house is still silent, her bed still cold, and Marco knows this kind of loneliness better than he'd care to admit to anyone, even to himself.

But it's not his place, it's not his burden to lift.

So Marco nods, lowering his head. Contessina raises hers and tries a polite smile, chin up in the air and dry eyes.

“Very well”, she says, and to her credit, the crack in her voice is almost impossible to hear.

-

“Is that all?”, Cosimo asks, and Marco looks away from the unmade bed and back at his master.

Once again the true answer is not the answer he wants to give, because Contessina's letters are not _all_ there is to say. There is a whole conversation hidden between the two of them – _the three of them_ really, because even if he doesn't like it, Marco knows that he's both literally and figuratively in the middle of this mess – a conversation that doesn't concern politics or business or Florence.

But Cosimo is standing in the middle of his very clearly used bedroom, wearing nothing but a rumpled shirt, and there are red marks on his neck and the smell of sex in the air, and once again, it's not Marco's place, it's not his secret to give away.

“It is”, he answers then, and Cosimo nods, but he doesn't look pleased at all.

-

Another month, another sunset darkening Venice and another dawn shining over Florence.

Contessina hands him the envelopes he has to get back to her husband. _They are important_ , she says, but they're always important. She looks exhausted, the rims of her eyes are red, the thin line of her mouth unfolds the unhappiness buried underneath her polite manners.

Marco's tired too.

And it's still not his place, he's still not the man that should do this, but he knows love as well as he knows loneliness, and as well as he knows pride.

So he carefully puts away the letters in the saddle bag, then turns back to her.

“Another thing”, he says, because she stopped asking _is that all?_ weeks ago now.

And Contessina curiously looks up at him.

“Yes?”, she asks, unsure.

Marco steps forward and takes her right hand in his. He glances briefly at her, waiting for her to grant him the permission with a nod, the he bends down and lays a kiss on the back of her hand. It's quick and very, very soft, but Contessina's fingers curls around his, and for a moment she seems unwilling to let him go.

Marco stands up again and he doesn't say it's from Cosimo, but he _is_ his messenger after all, so he let it go unspoken between them, and Contessina - always the wisest - doesn't inquire further. 

Maybe the three of them know each other too well for this to work, and maybe the wounds are still too deep to be healed with such small gestures, but another thing Marco knows is that the little things are often the true repository of hope, and for all the anger and the lies and the betrayal, you don't take away hope from the people you love. Cosimo will understand.

Besides, Contessina is smiling now. And that's enough.


End file.
